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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912131">Down The Ink Puddle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstySkeletons/pseuds/AngstySkeletons'>AngstySkeletons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also I want a nonbinary reader for once, Also why does everyone want to fuck skeletons???, And Fresh.... Is Fresh, And a non-human reader, And platonic love, Chaotic neutral bastard man, Cross is fucking aroace, Dancetale, Dream is the first to fall, Dream needs help, Dreamtale, Error actually gets help, Errortale, Get this man t h e r a p y, Get this poor skeleton some therapy, Horrotale, I'm going to spoil things in the tags so uh.. let's not, Ink deserves no love until he gets his shit together, Ink has no morals, InkTale, Let this mans make friends, M/M, Multi, My first fic and i'm dummy, No Error Harem, Non-binary Reader - Freeform, Nonbinary Character, Oh yea, Only Bad Guy Poly, Reader Is A Skeleton, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader convinces Ink to consider his morals, Reader is a creator, Reader is nonbinary because representation, So many human and female reader fics it's ridiculous, So traumatised, Swapfell, The tags are not fucking accurate, Underfell, We're here for good relationships and platonic friendships, What's up with that??, X event, XTale, You Get Kidnapped, You only want to hug him, aftertale, all the platonic ships, and traumatised, dusttale, except for you, outertale, underswap - Freeform, undertale - Freeform, x reader fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23912131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstySkeletons/pseuds/AngstySkeletons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>So you died. A beloved creator in the Undertale fandom, dead and honestly kind of content with your afterlife; all things considered, you got to live a silent life and watch over your creations.<br/>Then Ink comes along to fuck it all up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bad Sans Poly, Chara/Frisk, Chip/Reader (The Chara not the Creator), Dance/Classic, Error/Dream, For good reason - Relationship, Geno/Reaper, Nightmare/Dust/Killer/Horror, Nobody wants to date a creator, Outer/Blue, Platonic thoughn, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Sans/Sans (Undertale), Sci/Red, That's the only romantic ship you'll get, The reader has platonic friendships, that's it - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>272</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Didn't Ask For This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was peaceful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the peace that the unending void of death brought, but rather the peace of nature, of being out in the wilderness with only yourself. Sure, it got lonely being unable to talk to anyone, but being able to see your own creation grow and live on even after you died was reassuring. People took your creations and eternalised them. You didn’t care if they claimed it as their own, you only cared that people loved what you made, that people enjoyed the things you put out for them despite everything in your life. Even if it wasn’t meant to come to this and you had many more plans, you hoped that someone else would find those plans and put them into action for you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed, hopping to your feet as you cast one last gaze towards your gathering of creations for the day. The universe you’d created was beautiful and you were happy that you’d been given a chance to care for it after death. Obviously, you weren’t exactly looking for any multiversal shenanigans after learning you’d come to the lovely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely stable </span>
  </em>
  <span>world of the Undertale AUs. And if anything, you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>not wanting to run into the four foot six gremlin bastard artist that claimed to protect universes after the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last time </span>
  </em>
  <span>a creator came into contact with him, yet here you were, staring Ink down as if you were a tower above some shit ass magpie that collected people and not shiny things like it should. The absolute bastard energy radiating off of him was honestly like nothing you’d seen before and you used to be friends with a sadistic burger king manager, so you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> bastard energy when you felt it. He held out his hand, giving you an expectant smile as he spoke in that annoyingly high, chipper tone that was so fake it made you cringe. “Hi! I’m Ink, the protector of universes, who are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t help smashing your palm into your forehead, wincing at how bones clashed against bones. Oh right, you’d forgotten you were now a skeleton of all things. Thinking back, though, it made sense; you always used a skeleton to represent yourself whenever you inserted yourself into the background of your creations for shits and giggles. Readjusting your glasses, you gave him the most unimpressed stare you’d ever given anything in your life. “Why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> would I ever try to be friends with a rat bastard like you?” You held a hand up when he went to reply, leaning down slightly to better stare into his eyes from a shorter distance. “I’m not done. Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting involved in </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of your dumb multiversal shenanigans. Don’t just visit a universe thinking ‘hey, I know that’s the creator of this universe, I’m gonna go </span>
  <em>
    <span>annoy</span>
  </em>
  <span> them even after the</span>
  <em>
    <span> last time</span>
  </em>
  <span> I got a creator involved in the multiverse it all went to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> almost everyone fucking died</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my friends got </span>
  <em>
    <span>traumatised</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> nobody trusts me anymore</span>
  </em>
  <span> because</span>
  <em>
    <span> I caused this</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and think everyone is going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay with it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a good few minutes of Ink staring at you dumbfounded for him to finally break the silence between you two. He sat down, staring at the grass during that time, quickly scrawling on his scarf notes and then running through the entire thing to, presumably, find evidence of the previous events. Then, he spoke: “Sorry, I’m trying to find the fucks that I should be giving but I can’t seem to find them.” Oh. OH. He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually make a joke you would even remotely consider so much as </span>
  <em>
    <span>snickering </span>
  </em>
  <span>at. Okay maybe he did because you ended up snickering anyways, much to his bewilderment. “And where do you presume you’ll find them?” You spat out between small, snickering laughs. They only increased as recognition and then smugness settled on his face. His next words served to </span>
  <em>
    <span>massively</span>
  </em>
  <span> increase your enjoyment of his idiocy: “Well, I won’t find them in you that’s for sure.” You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> he just outed himself as a bottom, even if he probably was the kind of person to fake being a bottom so he could top you and then laugh at you while calling you a bottom. Yea, that sounded like Ink. Or, at least, the way you’d written him quite a few times when you were still in the business of fanfiction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had calmed down pretty quickly from your fit of laughing, your humour being replaced with that ever present pissed look you had for a resting face, eyelights once again staring him down. If he wasn’t soulless, he’d probably be sweating under the intensity of your stare by now. “So,” You began, “Why did you come here other than to introduce yourself, Ink?” He instantly gave you the most confused look he was capable of, pulling up an end of his too-long scarf. It took him a little to come up with an answer, letting the scarf drop to the ground unceremoniously. “Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come live in the omega timeline! Lots of people live there and I’m sure they won’t mind housing a creator!” That unnaturally chipper tone was back full force. You could only sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose - nasal cavity? - in the appropriate amount of annoyance needed to deal with the little shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ink.” You began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up from reading through his scarf. “Yes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>just said</span>
  </em>
  <span> about five minutes ago?” You could guess that by his look, he was trying as hard as he could to actually remember what you’d said. He quietly answered a single word: “Yes..?” Yea he definitely didn’t remember a fucking smidge of information you’d dumped on him. You groaned. “Ink, I’m going to fucking murder you. Okay. I am not going to come live in the omega timeline. Not a good idea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Was there any end to the artist’s idiocy? Probably not. You always wondered how people could put up with him but his only friends were a guardian of literal positivity that was over a thousand years old - and possibly already having lost any sense of dignity and normality - and literal satan himself. You could count Error, but that bastard was incapable of forming any sort of relationships healthily in his current state of mind as far as you were concerned. “Multiple reasons, Ink.” You spat, to which he just shrugged, humming in thought and running a finger over something on his scarf. “Well.. Do you at least wanna try something for me?” He asked, staring at you expectantly, “I’ll leave you alone after, I swear!” He added once you’d levelled a glare at him, holding his hands up defensively. You guessed you could humour him this one time. Pulling a small vial out of the side of his bandolier, he held it out to you which you promptly took it, gulping down the clear liquid whilst maintaining eye contact as well as you could with your shit vision. “Tastes like solvent.” He smiled innocently at you, chirping his next few words. “That’s because it was a sedative!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You frowned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then everything slipped away all at once in a dizzying flash of colours that faded into darkness. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Honestly this is just an indulgent fic.<br/>I'm not sorry for not updating Overcoming Darkness again, I'm not really motivated to write long enough chapters right now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Can I Please Go Back To Being Dead?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You wake up and meet four new faces.<br/>One of them is absolute babey even in person.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay wow, I wasn't expecting this much attention from the first chapter.<br/>I'm glad you all like it!<br/>I'll probably put focus on this fic more if you like it so much.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The last thing you were expecting to wake up to was yelling. Lots of yelling, mostly at Ink from the little snippets you caught. You were expecting to wake up in a basement chained to a wall with torture instruments hung up on every vertical surface available, but no. You woke up on a sofa so unbelievable soft and unpleasant at the same time you were considering actually going back to sleep, but alas exhaustion decided it was time to fuck off after that nice long sleep under sedatives. Instead, you listened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could ya’ not ‘ave thought this through!?” Came a rough voice, worn and sore. Possibly a fell if you could guess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I thought it would be good to maybe have a creator here? To help build trust..?” That was definitely Ink. Definitely. Only an idiot like that would think ‘hey maybe I should break people’s trust again to build trust’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you could.. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have done that. Especially </span>
  <em>
    <span>drugging them</span>
  </em>
  <span> when they </span>
  <em>
    <span>did not want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come here? Really? Even if they are alright with being here</span>
  <em>
    <span> now</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are definitely not going to be their favourite, Ink.” You could hazard a guess at who it was from the posh accent and proper wording of everything. It was most likely Dream, he sounded like he was from the times where everyone talked posh, which is probably befitting of a positivity guardian over a century old. Now you wondered what Nightmare sounded like - posh like Dream or did he sound like your everyday modern british villain? That would actually be pretty funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything quickly settled down with the presence of someone new in the room. They exuded the vibes of someone severely sleep deprived and done with everyone’s shit. So it was either a fell skeleton or someone else. You could tell you would most definitely vibe with them if you could bother to open your eyes and look at them. But you were comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time and it was a heavenly mix of hell and not hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The harsh grating of a voice filled with static and jumping about everywhere was enough to rip that comfort away. </span>
  <b>“As much as I appreciate your need to argue about whether or not you’re all going to get murdered in the near future or if just Ink is going to die, do it quietly. I’ve gotten no sleep for three days because of you idiots and if I don’t sleep normally you’ll get pissy because I ‘need to follow a normal sleep pattern’. So shut the fuck up and learn maybe nobody is gonna be their favourite because you all fucking suck.” </b>
  <span>Wow. He.. Honestly was kinda wrong but wow. You had to admire his ability to function on that little sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You opened your eyes, pushing yourself up a bit so you could stare Error right in the eyes and spoke. “Actually, you’re kind of my favourite person in this room right now.” You glanced about to see all the people in the room at the moment: Error, Ink, Dream and a fell. You’re just gonna call him Red until he tells you his name. “Also, if you’d kindly stop arguing so he could sleep that’d be swell, insomnia sucks and I can vibe with the whole sleep deprivation thing on another level.” You yawned, just kind of flopping back down to stare at the ceiling with the look of someone done with life. “FYI, I’m not gonna be the kind of Creator to want a perfect world and then look at the multiverse, go ‘hmm yes I’ll use this to create my perfect world’ and actually fucking do it. Also not the kind of dumbass to trust Ink to do anything ever. I mean the guy has no soul! How do you expect him to have a brain as well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, you could kind of get used to the shocked looks. The only one not surprised was Dream, but there wasn’t much that could surprise someone as old as him, you guessed. He was the first to speak up. “Error being the favourite is quite understandable, he is my favourite too.” He began, casting his gaze from you to Error. “And we are quite sorry for our inconsideracy, Error, please do go back to sleep. We will be quieter from now on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone waited for Error to leave the room before beginning to speak again, though much quieter than before. Red was the first to start asking questions. “How do we know ya’ ain’t jus’ waitin’ til our guards ‘re down ta’ attack us?” You stretched out, popping the joints you could before relaxing, cracking an amused smile at all the disturbed expressions directed at you from the sounds. You took a few moments to revel in them while you though of an answer. “Well, I’m not exactly that bothered about fucking anything up. I mean, I just died last week, for Asgore’s sake. Believe me, the last thing I’d want to do is kill you guys when you’re literally living, magical skeletons and I can actually see you up close. The closest I’ve seen any of you is through a computer screen but now? I could touch you guys! With consent of course, I’m not Ink.” Ink’s offended look got a short-lived laugh bubbling up your throat, amusement clear in your eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You got up, casting a glance to Red before any other questions got thrown your way. “What’s your name by the way, I don’t want to assume and call you the wrong thing.” Brushing off your knee-length legging and oversized hoodie, you smiled at him, stretching your legs a little. Your bones felt oddly stiff. You barely caught his name being squeaked out as you popped more joints. So it was Red. Your guess seemed to have been right this time, huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha, Red. Do you guys have any chocolate milk or am I not allowed any?” With wary looks cast your way, you quickly added a, “I swear I’m not going to poison it.” To which Red just nodded, a wicked smile coming over his features, mischief gleaming in his eyelight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea. Ya’ can ‘ave some, alright. Go ahead an’ take it.” You didn’t trust him one bit but fuck it, you were tired and in need of sugar to fucking function. Heading over to their almost comically oversized fridge, you ignore the worried and annoyed whispers of mister positivity, opening the door to pull out a bottle of chocolate milk. You only just went to put the chocolate milk back in the fridge when a searing red knife as comically large as the fridge was pressed to your throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gravelly, deep voice spoke from behind you. “You might want to watch whose milk you’re taking.” Like hell you would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off. I’m not going to listen to a X with legs and the ability to speak. You have more than enough chocolate milk and I’m too out of energy to bother making any myself right now. Got any complaints? Tell that to Red. He told me I could have it.” The knife was slowly retracted, yet didn’t come to touch your neck again as it moved away, a hand closing the fridge door only to block you in and take the glass of delicious brown milk you’d just poured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” You exclaimed, reaching for the glass as he gulped down the contents of it, grinning at you. “Sorry, bud, but this is my milk, my rules. I’m not going to just let people waltz in here and take it, you know. Gotta earn it.” You huffed, snatching the empty glass from him to clean it. You noticed the lack of space to put anything around that sink soon enough, dirty dishes and glasses and cutlery scattered in and around it. There were even a few piles. At least they were devoid of food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed, walking over to the smaller sink you could spot, using that to clean the glass before you poured yourself a second glass of milk, not even stopping to put the milk away again before you started drinking, finishing it off in record time not even the walking X could beat. You cast a glance to the piled up sink again with a sigh. You cleaned the glass again and put it away, finding yourself staring at the sink again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It couldn’t hurt to clean it, right?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys like this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You clean and meet a human.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Two chapters in one day?<br/>It's more likely than you think.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You stared at the neatly piled dirty dishes you’d set on the table - on top of a disposable cloth, of course - with satisfactions. Bowls, plates, glasses, mugs, knives, forks, spoons.. Just about everything was in neat little piles or collections. Now for cleaning supplies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since there wasn’t any soap or sponges near the sink cabinets, you guessed it was probably the cabinet nicely labelled ‘Cleaning’ that you couldn’t reach. Damn you being only 5’2. You were not about to ask any of the others to help so you pulled a chair over, hopping up onto it to pull some soap and sponges out, grabbing a couple scourers just in case. There were some pans with week old fats stuck to them. Hopping back down not so elegantly, you made your way back to the sink, placing down the cleaning supplies before heading back to find some rubber gloves, putting them on snugly and heading back to the sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was going to be a lot of back and forth. And cleaning. You put the plug in the sink, running the water as hot as it could get, squirting in some soap before shutting off the faucet. You grabbed a sponge, using the rough side to scrub the sides and bottom of the sink, pulling the plug and rising all the grime and soap down the sink, holding the sponge under the water to clean it off too. You put more soap on the now soaked sponge, rubbing it in and scrubbing down around the sink, using a tea towel to mop up all the water and soap, dropping it into a nearby hamper. Then, you filled the sink with soap and water again, grabbing the first pile of things to clean.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You sank down into the chair, throwing the gloves and table cloth into the nearing bin, groaning into your arms as you planted your head into them. That took pretty much any energy you had for the day away completely. But hey, now they had clean dishes, organised and put away so it was easy to find everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You doubt anyone would notice or appreciate it, but oh well. You weren’t doing this for attention, you were doing this because the uncleanliness irked you to high hell. You looked up at the sound of footsteps, spotting a blue-clad skeleton looking very happy at the lack of mess, though his happy look dropped when he spotted you. A swap, lovely. You groaned once again, glaring at him unhappily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned around, walking to the counter separating the kitchen from the living room and yelling at someone. “You know, I didn’t expect you to hire a cleaning lady in my absence just because you can’t be bothered to clean up after yourselves.” Cleaning lady? Okay, first of all, you weren’t being paid. Second of all, you were not a cleaning lady. You stood up, steadying yourself on the table as your vision blackened and went temporarily fuzzy, blinking away the haze as you walked up behind Blue. He was slightly shorter, luckily. “Just so you know, I’m not being paid.” His look of annoyance quickly turned to outrage, but you put a finger to his teeth to shush him. “I’m not done. I’m also not a cleaning lady, or hired by them, or a lady. I’m just a skeleton. My gender is skeleton. Alright? So stop yelling at them for hiring a cleaning lady and yell at them for being slobs that don’t know how to clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You walked past him, flopping down next to someone on the sofa and looking at the two skeletons currently battling it out in a game of battleships on the coffee table. Said skeletons paused what they were doing to stare at you, obviously confused. Then, they cast a questioning glance to Ink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took it upon yourself to explain. “He kidnapped me because I refused to come here with him. No, I am not looking to destroy any of you, and I just cleaned that mess of a sink so you can get fucked if you want to fight. I’m exhausted.” Yea that.. Didn’t really get rid of the confused looks directed at Ink, but now they had some sort of reason to be more confused than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You said nothing else, observing the room to see who was actually in it. There was Ink sitting in a corner drawing, Dream and Red were playing some sort of game together, Classic and Outer were playing battleship before you distracted them, Cross was watching something on a laptop and currently beside you was honestly the last person you expected to be here: A Frisk. They had been staring at you curiously the entire time. You stared back at them, smiling and waving at them, to which they waved back. You assumed they were deaf or at least mute, so you tried talking to them just in case they were just mute. “So.. Where are you from?” You asked, uncertain of what to say to them. There were so many ways you could fuck up, but oh well. At least they probably knew a few things given they were allowed to be here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They put a finger to their chin, signing to you. Guess they were mute but not deaf, that was going to make things a lot easier. “I’m from the original timeline. Our timeline got destroyed during the event, so now we live here with Sans and his friends!” You tilted your head, honestly kind of confused at the ‘our’ and ‘we’ before you realised that they were probably referring to their Chara too, given they tended to follow around their Frisks being dead and all. You barely caught their next question, having looked away momentarily to think better. What could you say? Staring at walls made things easier to remember. “Where are you from?” Thinking about it, what could you say? You weren’t from any universe? You were a creator? You were from the universe you’d created? That… Actually is a safer bet than anything. So you went with that. “Oh. I’m from Tranquiltale. It’s.. A nice universe. I think. I haven’t lived there long. I made it to be nice though… Uh.. As in I created the universe?” You kept going on, tone becoming more and more uncertain until they simply gave a nod, hopping down from the sofa and heading off to go upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sat there, fiddling with your fingers and staring at the wall. Everything was so odd now that you thought about it. You died and got sent to live in a world you’d created, nice and dandy that made sense. But to be able to interact with the universes outside of your own, for this to even be real? It didn’t make too much sense, but you guessed if people like Sanses could, you could too, given you were higher on the power hierarchy than them - and that wasn’t you being narcissistic, either, you were legitimately a creator of worlds here. But another question was posed: is this reality a simulation or real? For you, it was simply a game, but for them? It was their entire reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something cold and hard was pressed into your hands, snapping you from your thoughts to find that the human had come back. They’d given you a golden heart locket, just like the one they were wearing. Now that you thought about it, all the skeletons in the room had a little golden heart patch sewn into their clothes where a soul would sit. You smiled at them, putting the locket on, giving them a questioning look. “I trust you.” They explained, running back off upstairs without any further words, leaving you to think again. The golden heart must be a sign of trust from them, but how come they’d given you a locket instead of just a patch to put on your hoodie? Was it a higher sign of trust from them? Both Cross and Classic had one too, but nobody else. Well, no, Dream had one too now that you looked. Maybe they knew you truly meant no harm, maybe they gave it to you to help show the others you could be trusted by giving you such an esteemed sign of trust from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter, all that mattered was at least someone trusted you. They put thought into such a small gift and you appreciated that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You should get their name later.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Insomnia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You spend some time having no-sleep hours.<br/>Dream really needs to sleep.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! It's finally here after months of nothing.<br/>I apologise for the lack of updates, I'm currently starting a lot of GCSE coursework and my mental health has been not so good so I didn't have motivation to work on this until now. <br/>I've been writing this for months.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You took another failed snap at the noodles, only succeeding in grabbing up another piece of chicken. Chopsticks maybe aren’t the best thing to eat your noodles with. Sighing, you place the pot down, picking up a sketchbook and mechanical pencil you’d pilfered from the resident artist to start drawing up some ideas for a comic you’d always wanted to draw. First things first were the areas you wanted it to be set in, like the city and the wilderness. It was easy to get lost in the motions when you put pencil to paper, the quiet scratch against the paper filling the silence as you drew, unaware of your surroundings and only of the paper in front of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d just dipped a waterbrush into the cup of water you’d grabbed (when had you gotten them? You couldn’t remember getting up to attack more of the supply stash) when someone grabbed your shoulder, harsh golden eyelights bright in the darkness. You did the thing any rational person might do and screeched, sending the brush into the offender’s eye socket and swivelling around to glare at them. Your hands were already grabbing the skeleton on reflex, pulling him over to thump against the ground, on his back, staring up at you as you let his arm out of your grasp. You sighed, crouching down next to him, “Dream, what the fuck?” You asked blankly, staring at him with unimpressed being your only emotion right now, to which he giggled and grinned, poking your face in what you could only describe as a sleep deprived drunkenness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other person in the room looked up from his seat by the fire, his chair stopping its soft rocking as he got up, needles set aside on the chair. Error came to join you on the other side of Dream, an amused grin on his face. </span>
  <b>“Hey Dreamboat, what’cha doin’ on the floor?” </b>
  <span>His voice was full of amusement and slight concern for the dreamer, though it went untouched in favour for teasing him. </span>
  <b>“Thought I told ya’ to not sleep on it. The fire’s jus’ over there, ya’ know.” </b>
  <span>With that, the glitch picked the guardian up, placing him down on a beanbag chair next to the fire, quick to move away to resume his knitting once certain that Dream was alright and comfortable. You could feel the knowing grin on your face, chuckling quietly, standing up to go back to your seat on the sofa with your art supplies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You belatedly realised your waterbrush was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside Dream’s skull </span>
  </em>
  <span>when you went to paint in colour washes for a sketch. Whatever gods were out there seemed to answer your silent call, salvation granted in the form of your brush being thrown at you, which you caught rather well. You had to say, you impressed yourself with those top notch reflexes. Soon, you were back to your art, brush dancing across the page as you applied colours and washes, bringing to life vibrant forests and desolate deserts, vibrant landscape and crowded cities, as if you were creating a new world with simply your drawings. By the time you were finished, there was a familiar skeleton leaning over your shoulder tiredly, Dream yawning as he looked over your drawings with no shortage of elation. “They’re really good!” Came from right by your… not ear, whatever it was. Either way, he was loud and right next to your skull. Hand planted firmly on his face, you gently pushed him away, unamused as you levelled a tired look at him. “Thanks, very constructive.” You remarked with as much sarcasm as you could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another giggle - you had to admit it was kind of adorable - and his response came next, “Thanks, I’m very good at building things.” His words were slurred with sleep, whatever meager amount he had managed to get given how late he was awake and how late he’d gone to bed. The only response you could muster was an exasperated groan, flipping the guardian off with the gusto of a pompous villain, very much wanting to resume your task of drawing out ideas and ignoring anyone else in the room until you fell into the sweet lull of sleep. Not that you were getting any sleep tonight, but you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it. Pun intended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream, reluctantly, went to bother the glitch, leaving you to your own tasks. Speaking of which, said task was the bane of your existence and art career: drawing rooms. But alas, you had to if you were to include the main character’s house and room. Darn you for sucking ass at writing and pursuing an artistic career, which wasn’t all that bad when you considered the fact your pursuit of art led you to such a kick ass afterlife. Or maybe you were just in a coma and you’d wake up any moment now, unfulfilled and going back to your boring daily life. Shaking your head, you picked up the pencil, sketching out the basic borders of the room quite well considering how hard you usually found the task. You’d decided on a space theme to fit the character’s want to become an astronaut and their interest in space, landing on walls covered in stars and a lightshade that looked like the sun and moon depending on whether or not it was turned on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That quiet peacefulness of someone singing silently, the soft click of needles and drag of pencil against paper, was enough to tire you out enough you thought you could actually sleep. Your yawn caught Dream off guard, his golden eyes fixed onto you before recognition lit up in them. You were almost impressed he’d managed to make a coherent connection with how tired he was. Error was the first to speak, </span>
  <b>“You know, you could use my room if you want to sleep, Creator.”</b>
  <span> He notified, watching to gauge your reaction. Maybe the offer was too personal, maybe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, but where would you sleep?” You enquired, quirking a bonebrow in that signature questioning look that you know would look comical if you could see yourself. Dread filed the both of you at the grin forming on Dream’s face, the destroying casting a pitiful plea for help towards you. Instead of helping, you chose to lift both brows, an encouraging look towards the guardian. “Error could sleep with me!” He supplied, voice a low purr that might have been seductive if it didn’t sound like a motorcycle left to run a little too long with a faulty engine. What you didn’t expect, however, was the canary blush that threatened to take over Error’s entire skull, eyes gaped wide at Dream, to which he laughed, smoothing a thumb over his cheek and commenting, “Your face looks pretty when it’s all yellow like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your mouth, reaching for your phone. You belatedly realised such an item did not follow you into the hell of skeleton mischief that was this world. You sighed, reaching for your brush and paints, resuming your process of sketching and painting. Hopefully Ink could make you a room tomorrow if he actually remembers you exist in the morning. Assuming he’d remember to make you a room, that is. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You couldn’t remember falling asleep, and you sure as hell didn’t remember going upstairs. You sat up, realising you were decently high above the ground, leaning over the railing of the bunkbed you found yourself on. Glancing about the room, you could make out a bookcase sat neatly in one corner next to a set of drawers and a wardrobe. Thankfully, the glowing wallpaper made it easier to see, fluorescent green emitted from the shifting constellations sat on the wall. Small crater-like markings glowed on the lightshade, obviously meant to mimic the moon. Almost urgently, you turned around to try and find something on the bed, letting out a relieved breath when you saw the small armada of stuffed animals sitting neatly by your pillows. You reached over, setting the locket you were wearing onto the top of the nearby shelving that stuck just a little over the top of the bed. You turned back to the stuffed animal army.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Picking one up - a scraggly brown-furred bear with tartan felt tied neatly around its neck to mimic a scarf - you held it close, snuggling down into the star-themed blankets with a smile. The quilt felt heavenly beneath you, a soft fluffy cushion from the bed underneath, the pillows just the right height to cushion your neck perfectly. You’d imagined the room would be wonderful, but you didn’t realise it would become real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You decided you didn’t really care right then, drifting off into a dreamless abyss of sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Watchful eyes and stars signs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some things happen.<br/>You show your inner sci kinnie.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here you go, the long awaited next chapter.<br/>It took me three days to write something this long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eyes bore into the back of your skull, not the frozen flames of pure anger but that cold curiosity of something that you once knew - something that you had long forgotten (or maybe only recently gone from your memory). Bones locked in place, you stared wide-eyed at the wall, eyes tracing along each constellation, distracting you from the creature in your room, the beast waiting behind you, ever-lasting and never leaving. You didn’t want to come to terms with the horror you knew was there. But the darkness was already closing in, the stars dimming and the light fading… A phantom grip ghosted along your neck, snapping down on it. Breathing was a necessity all of a sudden, chest heaving with the need for air. You couldn’t breath, you needed air, you need it you need it </span>
  <em>
    <span>you need it you need-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>You twisted around, coming face to face with the beast, its body illuminated by seemingly nothing. Dull yellow eyes, somehow still glowing, bore into your own, dark red hair scraggly cast over a gaunt face, each bone fully recognisable under the thin coating of pale flesh, too paper-like to belong to anything still living. Your eyes travelled down, catching the glint of bloodied flow from its neck, a crimson veil punctured by a gaping more of teeth and watchful eyes, a bright yellow, piercing. More opened, showing the mess of holes littered throughout the torso, slits of teeth opening on arms and legs, yellow consuming you, piercing through you, condensing into a cold sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, it spoke. A voice of thousands, the voices of many. Of those you’d disappointed and those you left behind, those you were selfish enough to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave all alone like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, selfish enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>abandon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <b>“You should wake up before it’s all gone.” </b>
  <span>It cracked open in mocking smiles, hand retracting to let you gasp in panicked breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“Or maybe you’d like to leave it all behind. You left us before, you killed us when you had everything you’d ever wanted.”</b>
  <span> The ground started to rumble and shake, the creature stepping back, manic grins painted across its pale, grey form. It fell back into the all-consuming bright, walls and ceilings and floors collapsing into pixels and nothingness, disappearing and leaving you alone until you fell through too, joining the objects into the white abyss. You stared up into the eyes of the beast. Your voice was a whisper, barely audible and hoarse as if you’d done nothing but scream for days. “Who are you?” You asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The white split open in a grinning maw. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>“Don’t you know your own face?”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>You woke with a start, heaving breaths and haunted eyes, curling in on yourself. It took a few moments to peel yourself from your position and slip down the ladder, landing on the floor with as much grace as a stork. So… you didn’t actually know how much grace that was but you didn’t fall over so that’s pretty damn elegant to you. Glancing about, you located the ajar bathroom door, humming as you headed in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You headed for the sink, splashing your face with fine amounts of cold water. Lifting your head, you glanced up at the mirror, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> face staring back at you, sending you reeling backwards, tripping over </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>and crashing down. Everything was too much. It was all too much and fear coursed through your ley-line like veins, thrumming in your bones and curling around your soul in an iron grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t know how long it had been, all you knew was your bones ached and your face was marked with the dried tracks of past tears and current fears. There was someone pulling at you, pulling you from the floor and into their comforting grip, holding you close, chasing away the fears of waking dreams you didn’t know existed until they came to haunt you when you least expected. The mystery person hummed, poking your face, pulling open one of your eyes. You came face to face with the bastard that had brought you to this accursed place, looking disconcertingly.. Concerned? But why? You were completely fine before, why would he suddenly just come in here, pick you up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>care?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>You groaned, pushing yourself out of his arms and back onto the floor, glaring up at him and biting at him with venom-dripped words. “Fuck off, you little ass. I don’t need anyone picking me up from my floor nap.” The infernal bastard gave a response of a grin and a magical girl pose, giggling almost hysterically halfway through his dumb little charade.  It was enough to bring a soft smile to your face, dropping the amused expression down to an obviously over-exaggerated frown, the mock disappointment you got in return bringing a laugh bubbling up. It felt… better when he was here to distract you. Not like you’d admit you actually liked being around him, the ass shouldn’t be allowed to get cocky anytime soon. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolute destruction </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the multiverse (not like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>ready for it, just that right now was </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>inconvenient - you wanted breakfast first). Speaking of breakfast, you could smell </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>cooking downstairs judging by the faint waft of vaguely breakfast-y smells mingling together on their way through the house, leaving you with the melancholic nostalgia of being a young child waiting for your parents to make the best damn breakfast ever on Christmas day. Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it still is. Nothing beats the ultimate breakfast on the (arguably) best day of the year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though you couldn’t really remember just </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>the breakfast was, only the vague smell, an impression of joy, a few blurry faces at best. Blurry faces without names, obscured dishes with barely comprehensible names, as if it was gone from your mind entirely, blotched out purposefully in an attempt to forget everything you once knew and once were-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick flick to the forehead snapped you out of your quickly spiralling thoughts. Your eyelights settled on the one responsible, unsurprised to find Ink </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>hadn’t left your vicinity and instead decided to stay in your room staring at you like the head-empty dumbass he is. You hummed, extending a hand out to him - which he joyfully grabbed with no amount of restraint - and using him to help yourself stand, watching bemusedly as he crash landed onto the floor of your room, groaning quietly in pain. “Don’t do that to me.” You stated plainly, yawning between words as if that </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> absolutely ruin the unimpressed tone of your words. When no laughter erupted from the artist, you retreated into the bathroom to finish your daily routine in the morning of brushing your teeth and half-assedly taking a shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you stepped out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom, you saw no sign of Ink, only a closed door and some neatly folded clothes. Looking over them curiously, you sat down at the desk (conveniently set under the bed in place of a bottom bunk) and picked up the note set atop the pile, which read: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey! So I noticed you have no clothes, so I thought I’d take it upon myself to make you some! There’s a new hoodie, jeans and a band t-shirt Sci gave me once. Hope you like it!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ink” was signed quite beautifully at the bottom in probably the best damn cursive you’ve seen in a long time, however uncharacteristic it was for that rat bastard to have such beautiful, neat handwriting. Sometimes aspects of a person can betray their true nature as an ass and gremlin of the highest degree, and that was okay. Unless it was Ink. Then you were just a fool if you let that create any misconceptions about how nice he really is, that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>just let you down when you needed him most like he’d done to so many others. Rather, he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>put you down </span>
  </em>
  <span>when you needed him most. You think. Nobody was really here to quote you on every phrase you thought of. It wasn’t like you had a diary for all this shit and you weren’t going to get one either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking your head, you placed aside the note, unfolded the clothes and set them out across the desk. What you were left with was a desk covered in clothes, naturally. You chuckled to yourself; that was pretty damn funny. All jokes aside, you were left with a nice spread of an outfit: the hoodie was black with canary yellow sleeves, hood and pocket, soft to the touch and lined with fleece inside; sick embroidered black jeans, adornments of pink rose-like flowers curling up the side of the bottom, some even placed right over one of the pockets; a starset t-shirt with what you guessed was the transmissions merch design. All-in-all, it was a nice outfit that seemed pretty fucking comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left with the task of drying off and dressing, you quickly set to work. Breakfast smelled nice and you wanted some yourself. You’d rather kiss Ink (you could vaguely recall knowing someone who once would’ve, no matter how much they’d deny it) than miss breakfast. Kind of ironic given you usually didn’t eat breakfast. Actually, when had you last eaten at all? You… Have you ever eaten since you got here?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was the effects of being in your own universe. At least now, you were hungry enough to eat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sighed, finally slipping on the hoodie (it was unimaginably soft on the inside, as if he’d made it with cashmere inside or something) and leaving the room. Making your way down the quite tall staircase, you very skillfully avoided being noticed by anyone. It wasn’t exactly hard when practically everyone was asleep, but small victories were still victories. A beeline was made for the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You did a double take at just </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>was standing there, cooking up what looked like pancakes with bacon chunks scattered throughout - the superior way to do it, you never understood the people who didn’t just do that. Slowing your steps, you walked forward quietly, popping up next to the skeleton with all the finesse of Ink (as much as you detested it) appearing out of nowhere. “Hello, Sci.” You said, voice deliberately deepening for extra effect. The resulting screech and flying pancake had you bent over laughing, which only devolved into wheezing, half-laughing gasps for air when the pancake landed perfectly on the stack already there. It took you both a few moments to regain your composure, a dumb grin on your face that absolutely paralleled the ‘i’m done with your shit and i’ve just met you’ look he wore. He rolled his eyes, turning back to the mass amount of pancake batter still left to cook, not even looking at you as he spoke, “Go make some coffee and I’ll consider not leaving something on your pillow for that.” He ordered, to which you gave a quick nod and went about searching for the ingredients for the drink. Which… wasn’t easy. At all. In the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking slightest. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It would’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>great </span>
  </em>
  <span>if he told you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>where they were, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but nooo, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, maybe that was the exhaustion talking, maybe you were just pissed, who knows? Not fucking you, that’s for sure. You hummed, finally locating the coffee and, surprisingly, some hot chocolate powder. You set about making not only coffee, but hot chocolate too, considering they had separate machines for both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, you were nursing a warm cup of chocolatey, milky goodness with a bit of honey mixed in and cream piled atop it. Sci himself had a nice cup of coffee, which you dumped a bit of sugar into and poured a large amount of milk in to top it up. He seemed to enjoy it. The scientist seemed to have forgotten that food gets cold after not being on heat for too long, so you’d taken to wrapping each stack up in aluminium foil, keeping each one warm until people woke up. Glancing at the clock, you noticed that it was only eight in the morning. Dumping some more sugar into your drink should solve that problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food was done with only Ink making his way downstairs. He helped you get the syrup and butter out whilst Sci put out some food for the three of you, which was honestly hilarious because it included him showing you where the syrup was and you boosting him up on your shoulders like a five year old. Once the boiled tree sap was nicely lathered over the delectable pancakes, you sat down to eat. Ink decided to leave you two to talk, taking off to his room (studio?) with not much of a word past a thanks. That was fine. That was great, actually. Alone with Sci. Perfectly fine. You could deal with talking to someone who has thrice the brain cells you do. You didn’t have to if you were busy eating your pancakes with avid interest, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>decided to speak to you, an amused look on his face as he watched you pause in eating and almost choked as he spoke. “So, Creator, do you like science?” He waited for you to start breathing properly again, then prompted for a response once you did. “I… I like computers. That counts, right? Cause, not to brag, I’m like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>really good </span>
  </em>
  <span>at programming.” You replied, looking slightly more comfortable now. You were not. “Though, I also really like just most science, it’s all interesting. Especially stars. I love stars! And space! Robots are really cool too but I don’t think I could ever make them, and don’t get me started on the cool shit software can do. There’s also quantum physics, which is interesting as hell, biology and microbiology, chemistry in general… I can’t choose which field is the best!” You.. Didn’t mean to go on a rant like that, but you were going to roll with it nonetheless. “Anyways, yea, I like science.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This might end up being a long conversation if the way his face lit up was any indicator.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a twitter!!<br/>@Malonnaise <br/>I also have a tumblr, coincidentally also named Malonnaise.<br/>Go visit me on them! I'll probably not be very active but maybe I'll post things there!<br/>Or you can send me things!<br/>I don't care.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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